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Another poem
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MsFrisby



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 3966
Location: a quiet little corner of crazy

PostPosted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:15 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

andrew wrote:
Guccipiggy wrote:
The fact that you actually dared and had the courage to be a creative writing major just put you up there in my books. You're braver than me!

Don't put me too far up there; I dropped out, and if I were to resume, I wouldn't go back to it. Sad


What?

I was a creative writing english major. It was a snap! Fun! Okay, sometimes soul crushing, but very lesson teaching too.
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MsFrisby



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 3966
Location: a quiet little corner of crazy

PostPosted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 2:21 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oh. PS. The button issue I had with the pale blue shirt in the picture thread reminded me of a poem I wrote in high school. Here it is, as best I can remember it.

Buttons

My buttons won't stay buttoned,
that's the problem with this shirt.
These buttons won't stay buttoned
and it's making my head hurt.
My buttons don't stay buttoned,
first one is not, then two.
These buttons don't stay buttoned,
which gives guys quite a view.
My buttons can't stay buttoned,
now my face is turning red.
These buttons can't stay buttoned,
guess I'll just go back to bed.

The End. And remember folks, I'm a bit tipsy, so throw your tomatoes at the golem over there! Thank you!
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Major Tom



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 7562

PostPosted: Sat Mar 24, 2007 3:39 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

MsFrisby wrote:

Buttons

My buttons won't stay buttoned,
that's the problem with this shirt.
These buttons won't stay buttoned
and it's making my head hurt.
My buttons don't stay buttoned,
first one is not, then two.
These buttons don't stay buttoned,
which gives guys quite a view.
My buttons can't stay buttoned,
now my face is turning red.
These buttons can't stay buttoned,
guess I'll just go back to bed.

like, shel for the slightly older boys and girls
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Wed Apr 11, 2007 3:04 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

awake, I push myself up and feel my hand beneath me
curled into a fist, going numb, like it was holding onto someone
the knowledge of who is in my fingers, a phantom body
that I cannot draw back onto the pages of memory

I sit on the edge of the bed
listening to what is outside
a finchs' claws on the windowsill
the crunch of gravel and humming motors
all familiar, none sensible, not yet
I know enough to realize it will all be gone
invisible and soundless by the time I join them

a few more moments of this wrinkled, tired sense
then the room smooths into shape - walls and floor
solid masses to stub my toes on
it takes longer than usual this morning
like I have to stare down all this infinity
and answer for things that never were
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Guccipiggy



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2003

PostPosted: Wed Apr 11, 2007 8:00 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Oh! This reminds me. I wrote a poem the other day and I was really hoping at least some of you would have some feedback on it cause it's very different from my usual stuff. Thanks Smile

I thought I'd write a stream
of words in which to dive in;
and submerge, emerge
submerge, emerge,
submerge my grasp or
what is left.

This is because:

whatever betterment I may
have felt upon the verge
of brandy and girls -
whatever pity I once deserved -
no matter the faux incapability
of hatred lost in parenthesis,
nouns and verbs,

it would all be lost
under moss, a curve and
mosquito eggs.

Never mind the shift in
the ripples my body once made
or the titillating effervescence
drowned air creates; forget
the clogged seaweed
the last breath
through the green damp vase:

it would all be lost
on either side of the mirror
reflecting this verse.

Yet, still, in-between
moments of sky and bed,
old clouds and clear soil,
whisper of moments of us -
of drowning, of falling, of
choking, of drowning,
of gasping, of falling off…

where my lips were made
to join yours, and
no air to be shared.
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bun bun
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PostPosted: Wed Apr 11, 2007 10:39 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

reasonablymad wrote:
awake, I push myself up and feel my hand beneath me
curled into a fist, going numb, like it was holding onto someone
the knowledge of who is in my fingers, a phantom body
that I cannot draw back onto the pages of memory

I sit on the edge of the bed
listening to what is outside
a finchs' claws on the windowsill
the crunch of gravel and humming motors
all familiar, none sensible, not yet
I know enough to realize it will all be gone
invisible and soundless by the time I join them

a few more moments of this wrinkled, tired sense
then the room smooths into shape - walls and floor
solid masses to stub my toes on
it takes longer than usual this morning
like I have to stare down all this infinity
and answer for things that never were

Confused
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Wed Apr 11, 2007 10:41 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

speak your mind, woman.
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Thu Apr 12, 2007 12:46 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Guccipiggy wrote:
Oh! This reminds me. I wrote a poem the other day and I was really hoping at least some of you would have some feedback on it cause it's very different from my usual stuff. Thanks Smile


personally, I love it. it has rhythm, good timing accentuated by the pauses, and an unforced rhyme. it's very womanly, by which I mean you've conveyed something of being a woman very well.
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Guccipiggy



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2003

PostPosted: Thu Apr 12, 2007 6:06 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Very Happy

That means a lot, coming from you.
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bun bun
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PostPosted: Thu Apr 12, 2007 9:13 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

reasonablymad wrote:
awake, I push myself up and feel my hand beneath me
curled into a fist, going numb, like it was holding onto someone
the knowledge of who is in my fingers, a phantom body
that I cannot draw back onto the pages of memory

I sit on the edge of the bed
listening to what is outside
a finchs' claws on the windowsill
the crunch of gravel and humming motors
all familiar, none sensible, not yet
I know enough to realize it will all be gone
invisible and soundless by the time I join them

a few more moments of this wrinkled, tired sense
then the room smooths into shape - walls and floor
solid masses to stub my toes on
it takes longer than usual this morning
like I have to stare down all this infinity
and answer for things that never were

My initial reaction to this poem was captured pretty much exactly by the emoticon, which is why I didn't write a response, because I wasn't sure what made me, well, irritated. I really didn't know what to make of the poem or my emotional response to it, so it was more irritated and puzzled. I'll have a bash at it, though.

Taken as a whole, the poem makes sense to me. I interpreted it in several ways, and my reaction to the poem shifts with each interpretation of the meaning. Firstly, my personality requires that what I read has grounding. Mysticism, surrealism, post-modernism, all of them are sometimes pleasant (post-modernism in very small doses), but there has to be some sort of thing I can grasp, and hang onto, to ground myself. Reading The Sound and Fury, for example, was trial by fire and blood and sweat and toil; I was constantly scrabbling around in the mud for a scrap of meaning, plot, something I could hold onto. Because it's Faulkner, I was of course amply rewarded, but it was extremely unsettling.

This poem does the opposite. There are so many potential readings of it, I find myself lost. Sometimes this is a happy circumstance, when mysticism demands a certain obscurity of meaning, but this poem seemed like it was trying to be grounded firmly in reality (the stongly physical imagery, the way things feel and sound), and wasn't, because there were so many interpretations I could read into it.

Has the speaker lost a person to death? In which case, the last line in the last stanza seems like an out-of-place reference to a lost romance. I didn't like this line anyway, because I cringe at overuse, and "things that never were" is now almost an anthem for bad love songs and self-indulgent poetry. It seems out of place in what, given this particular interpretation, would be an accomplished poem.

Has the speaker ended a romantic relationship? It seems so, given the suggestion that the person lost is habitually with him in bed. In which case, I thoroughly dislike the last line, and even the mood of the entire poem. Personal preference here; as an answer to the question, "What is it like to end a relationship?" this poem is very generic. I could find a billion like it.

Is this just simply the feeling of waking? The loss of a dream? This, I think, is the reading you intended. For some reason, this interpretation highlights what I think are deficiencies in tone. You grasp the physical imagery quite well. However, the poem sits just outside the immediate experience of the speaker, but not far enough away to be third person; it's still expressed using "I". This poem seems to me like you were remembering what it was like to wake up from a dream, but only started writing the poem after the dream faded, and so the imagery is dulled; you don't have imagery that triggers a memory of the same feeling in your reader. It makes your reader think "Yes, there is a feeling associated with waking from a dream, but I can't remember what that feeling is, quite, I see what you're getting at," rather than "Oh, that is it. I can almost feel myself waking while reading this line." Granted, that is extremely hard to do, but given your choice of subject matter, something I think you should try for. With this interpretation, I still don't like the last pair of lines. They're meaningless, but more to the point, they're a detached sort of meaningless that doesn't evoke anything in me. Statements about staring down infinity have their place, and can evoke a reaction, but here, given your solidly physical imagery, they seem plopped down without much of a foundation.

In more of a copy-editor way, it should technically be "knowledge of whom" in line three, unless you're going for a very casual speech form, in which case I'd suggest "can't" in the last line of the first stanza. Mixing formal and informal speech makes it sound choppy.
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Fri Apr 13, 2007 2:42 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

I've taken some of what you said into consideration, but goddamn it I am having a hard time with my revision.
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bun bun
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PostPosted: Fri Apr 13, 2007 6:59 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

Poetry is really hard for me; I have great respect for people who write it well. That looks like it might end up a really good piece of work.

While we're on the subject: Gucc, I love your poem. I skimmed over it the first time, and didn't do it justice. The second time I read it, though, the cadence dragged me in. Like rm said, it has a wonderful flow. It isn't too smooth a ride, and isn't too rough. It has melody to it. I'm very impressed.
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Guccipiggy



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
Posts: 2003

PostPosted: Sun Apr 15, 2007 6:23 am    Post subject: Reply with quote

bun bun wrote:
While we're on the subject: Gucc, I love your poem. I skimmed over it the first time, and didn't do it justice. The second time I read it, though, the cadence dragged me in. Like rm said, it has a wonderful flow. It isn't too smooth a ride, and isn't too rough. It has melody to it. I'm very impressed.


Thanks bun Smile
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reasonablymad



Joined: 03 Apr 2007
Posts: 6783

PostPosted: Mon Apr 16, 2007 2:40 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

bun bun wrote:
That looks like it might end up a really good piece of work.


lies!
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Major Tom



Joined: 09 Jul 2006
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PostPosted: Mon Apr 16, 2007 2:47 pm    Post subject: Reply with quote

my thought: too much distance... i want to feel the fist rather than hear you telling yourself about it
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